


Solus

by tirsynni



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following a tragedy, Azazel completes a duty others refuse to acknowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solus

“The rumors are true then.”

If the voice of renowned terrorist Azazel frightened Charles Xavier, it didn’t show on the man’s face. Seemingly relaxed in his wheelchair, the professor continued to stare out his bedroom window. Slender, freckled hands remained still in his blanket-covered lap. The setting sun caught every worn line in his pale face.

“Indeed,” Xavier said at last. The word dragged out of him, bland and lifeless. The quirk of his smile didn’t extend past his lips. “The ‘cure’ worked.”

Over the past six months, as the war had raged over the mutant and baseline world, the word “cure” had been tossed by everyone, but none said it like that. No matter one’s position, fire always infused that word.

Azazel’s eyes flicked involuntarily to the still healing mark on Xavier’s neck. Stryker would be his next stop.

“Does Erik know you’re here?” Absently polite, distant, uncaring. With each word spoken by the legendary Professor X, Azazel felt the faint remnants of doubt shrivel.

“нет.” One ear listening for Xavier’s X-Men, Azazel walked to Xavier’s side. His tail coiled, waiting. “He would have stopped me.”

Silence, washed out blue eyes focused on the distant sunset. “Interesting,” Xavier said eventually.

Nothing audible from the X-Men yet, but time trickled quickly away from them. Still, Azazel waited.

“There are several cases of unusual psychopathological delusions.” Xavier’s voice carried the sad mimicry of a professor lecturing a student. His hands remained still in his lap. “Cotard’s Syndrome, for example, possibly caused by lesions in the parietal lobe but also associated with adverse responses to certain drugs. The inflicted person believes they are deceased or they do not actually exist, although there are, of course, variations. Capgras delusion: the belief that someone for whom you care has been replaced by an imposter. Derealization-depersonalization disorder, Reduplicative Paramnesia, oneiroid syndrome…they were all quite fascinating.”

Slowly, carefully, Azazel reached out and rested a hand on the back of Xavier’s neck. Xavier’s gaze never wavered from the setting sun.

“There is another, but I have never dealt with it.” The red mark almost resembled a love bit. “Where instead of believing you yourself is dead, you believe everyone around you is dead instead. I’m sure there is a name for it,” Xavier continued, soft and far away, “but I don’t know it.”

_Безнадежный._ That was the word. Hopeless.

Azazel gently squeezed the back of Xavier’s neck. It felt delicate under his hand. Finally, Xavier looked up. “You have come to kill me, correct.”

“Yes.”

Xavier hummed and looked back into the sunset. The sun seemed to crawl behind the shadowy trees. “Not here. I don’t want to die in this house.”

Ah, now noise in the distance, frightened shouts and someone calling Xavier’s name. Their time had run out. “Of course, _мой друг_.”

When Azazel teleported them away, he left the wheelchair behind. It wouldn’t be necessary.

In Cuba, the sunset painted the world in dying orange and dreamy blue. Xavier’s smile grew when he recognized the beach, brightening his dull eyes. Azazel set him gently in the sand as Xavier looked around, gaze catching on random spots. For Azazel, it looked like any other beach, a stretch of sand and curling waves, but this wasn’t for him.

Barely a week before, Professor Charles Xavier had lectured thousands of people, in person and televised, about mutation, its necessity, its reach, and its beauty. Before them all, the mutant known as Professor X died.

“Cotard’s Syndrome?” Azazel asked, twisting his tongue over the unfamiliar name.

Xavier hummed, eyes caught on a specific stretch of sand. His eyes glowed blue in the setting sun. “Would Erik have truly stopped you?”

“да, yes.” Azazel eyed the empty beach. Was that where Shaw had died so many decades ago? Or where Magneto had paralyzed the professor? He couldn’t remember.

Another hum and a soft, distant smile. “Give him my love.”

“да.” If Magneto would let him get close enough without trying to kill him.

Xavier looked back to the water, to the sun vanishing in the horizon. Xavier’s attention diverted, Azazel struck. Xavier exhaled. Then there was nothing.

In death, Xavier’s eyes were still that brilliant blue. _Inhuman_ , Magneto called them with pride. Azazel closed them now.

Even with the sun gone, soft golden light still shone over the horizon. Azazel sat beside Xavier’s body, watching the gold shift to pink, shift to blue, shift to black, and when the stars took over the sky, Azazel touched Xavier again and teleported him back to the mansion. For half a moment, he was tempted to teleport Xavier home, to Magneto, but decided not to waste time.

Magneto would know the truth soon enough.

By then, the X-Men had cleared the room, searching for them elsewhere. Azazel took his time slipping Xavier under the covers of his bed, the blankets hiding the worst of the blood. He reached out and settled Xavier’s hands on his stomach. As Azazel stepped back, a flash of blue caught his eye. He looked at the nightstand and shook his head once.

Pictures: a young Magneto before the helmet and cape, smile all terrifying teeth and vicious eyes; Mystique, in her own blue and in the human costume of white and blonde, smiling brightly in both. A scrap of metal before Magneto’s picture and a broken necklace by Mystique’s.

“Fools,” Azazel murmured, thinking of the ruined bullet Magneto carried in his pocket.

Shouts again. Azazel touched two fingers to Xavier’s temple, then his slack mouth, and teleported away in a puff of red. His duty, to Magneto, to Professor X, to Mystique, and to mutants themselves, was done.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the thought that Charles Xavier wouldn't last long without his powers and being reminded of Cotard's Syndrome.


End file.
